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THE IDOL OF PARIS

by SARAH BERNHARDT

1921
(English Edition)

CONTENTS

PART ONE: PARIS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

PART TWO: BRUSSELS

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PART THREE: THE COUNTRY

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

PART FOUR: THE CH┬TEAU

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

PART I. PARIS

CHAPTER I

In the dining-room of a fine house on the Boulevard Raspail all the
Darbois family were gathered together about the round table, on which
a white oil cloth bordered with gold-medallioned portraits of the line
of French kings served as table cover at family meals.

The Darbois family consisted of Franšois Darbois, professor of
philosophy, a scholar of eminence and distinction; of Madame Darbois,
his wife, a charming gentle little creature, without any pretentions;
of Philippe Renaud, brother of Madame Darbois, an honest and able
business man; of his son, Maurice Renaud, twenty-two and a painter, a
fine youth filled with confidence because of the success he had just
achieved at the last Salon; of a distant cousin, the family
counsellor, a tyrannical landlord and self-centered bachelor, Adhemar
Meydieux, and the child of whom he was godfather, and around whom all
this particular little world revolved.

Esperance Darbois, the only daughter of the philosopher, was fifteen
years old. She was long and slim without being angular. The flower
head that crowned this slender stem was exquisitely fair, with the
fairness of a little child, soft pale-gold, fair. Her face had,
indeed, no strictly sculptural beauty; her long flax-coloured eyes
were not large, her nose had no special character; only her sensitive
and clear-cut nostrils gave the pretty face its suggestion of ancient
lineage. Her mouth was a little large, and her full red lips opened on
singularly white teeth as even as almonds; while a low Grecian
forehead and a neck graceful in every curve gave Esperance a total
effect of aristocratic distinction that was beyond dispute. Her low
vibrant voice produced an impression that was almost physical on those
who heard it. Quite without intention, she introduced into every word
she spoke several inflections which made her manner of pronounciation
peculiarly her own.

Esperance was kneeling on a chair, leaning upon her arms on the table.
Her blue dress, cut like a blouse, was held in at the waist by a
narrow girdle knotted loosely. Although the child was arguing
vigorously, with intense animation, there was such grace in her
gestures, such charming vibrations in her voice, that it was
impossible to resent her combative attitude.

"Papa, my dear papa," she was asserting to Franšois Darbois, "You are
saying to-day just the opposite of what you were saying the other day
to mother at dinner."

Her father raised his head. Her mother, on the contrary, dropped hers
a little. "Pray Heaven," she was saying to herself, "that Franšois
does not get angry with her!"

The godfather moved his chair forward; Philippe Renaud laughed;
Maurice looked at his cousin with amazement.

"What are you saying?" asked Franšois Darbois.

Esperance gazed at him tenderly. "You remember my godfather was dining
with us and there had been a lot of talk; my godfather was against
allowing any liberty to women, and he maintained that children have no
right to choose their own careers, but must, without reasoning, give
way to their parents, who alone are to decide their fates."

Adhemar wished to take the floor and cleared his throat in
preparation, but Franšois Darbois, evidently a little nonplused,
muttered, "And then after that--what are you coming to?"

"To what you answered, papa."

Her father looked at her a little anxiously, but she met his glance
calmly and continued: "You said to my godfather, 'My dear Meydieux,
you are absolutely mistaken. It is the right and the duty of everyone
to select and to construct his future for himself.'"

Darbois attempted to speak....

"You even told mama, who had never known it, that grandfather wanted
to place you in business, and that you rebelled."

"Ah! rebelled," murmured Darbois, with a slight shrug.

"Yes, rebelled. And you added, 'My father cut off my allowance for a
year, but I stuck to it; I tutored poor students who couldn't get
through their examinations, I lived from hand to mouth, but I did
live, and I was able to continue my studies in philosophy.'"

Uncle Renaud was openly nodding encouragement. Adhemar Meydieux rose
heavily, and straightening up with a succession of jerky movements,
caught himself squarely on his heels, and then, with great conviction,
said: "See here, child, if I were your father, I should take you by
the ear and put you out of the room."

Esperance turned purple.

"I repeat, children should obey without question!"

"I hope to prove to my daughter by reasoning that she is probably
wrong," said M. Darbois very quietly.

"Not at all. You must order, not persuade."

"Now, M. Meydieux," exclaimed the young painter, "it seems to me that
you are going a little too far. Children should respect their parents'
wishes as far as possible; but when it is a question of their own
future, they have a right to present their side of the case. If my
uncle Darbois's father had had his way, my uncle Darbois would
probably now be a mediocre engineer, instead of the brilliant
philosopher who is admired and recognized by the entire world."

Gentle little Madame Darbois sat up proudly, and Esperance looked at
her father with a world of tenderness in her eyes.

"But, my lad," pursued Adhemar, swelling with conviction, "your uncle
might well have made a fortune at machinery, while, as it is, he has
just managed to exist."

"We are very happy"--Madame Darbois slipped in her word.

Esperance had bounded out of her chair, and from behind her father
encircled his head with her arms. "Oh! yes, very happy," she murmured
in a low voice, "and you would not, darling papa, spoil the harmony of
our life together?"

"Remember, my dear little Esperance, what I said to your mother
concerned only men--now we are considering the future of a young girl,
and that is a graver matter!"

"Why?"

"Because men are better armed against the struggle, and life is, alas,
one eternal combat."

"The armour of the intellect is the same for a young girl as for a
young man."

Adhemar shook his shoulders impatiently. Seeing that he was getting
angry and was like to explode, Esperance cried out, "Wait, godfather,
you must let me try to convince my parents. Suppose, father, that I
had chosen the same career as Maurice. What different armour should I
need?"

Franšois listened to his daughter affectionately, drawing her closer
to him. "Understand me, my dearie. I am not denying your wish as a
proof of my parental authority. No, remember this is the second time
that you have expressed your will in the matter of the choice of your
career. The first time I asked you to consider it for six months: The
six months having passed, you now place me under the obligation of--"

"Oh! papa, what a horrid word!"

"But that is it," he went on, playing with her pretty hair, "you have
put me under the obligation of answering you definitely; and I have
called this family council because I have not the courage, nor,
perhaps, the right, to stand in your way--the way you wish to go."

Adhemar made a violent effort to leap to his feet, declaiming in his
heavy voice, "Yes, Franšois, you must try and prevent her from going
this way, the most evil, the most perilous above all, for a woman."

Esperance began to tremble, but she stood resolutely away from her
father, holding herself rigid with her arms hanging straight at her
sides. The rose tint of her cheeks had disappeared and her blue eyes
were dimmed with shadows.

Maurice hastily made a number of sketches of her; never before had he
found his cousin so interesting.

Adhemar continued, "Pray allow me to proceed with what I have to say,
my dear child. I have come from the country for this purpose, in
answer to your father's summons. I wish to offer my experience for
your protection. Your parents know nothing of life. Franšois breathes
the ether of a world peopled only by philosophers--whether dead or
living, it makes little difference; your mother lives only for you
two. I expressed at once my horror at the career that you have chosen,
I expatiated upon all the dangers! You seem to have understood
nothing, and your father, thanks to his philosophy, that least
trustworthy of guides, continues futilely reasoning, for ever
reasoning!"

His harangue was cut short. Esperance's clear voice broke in, "I do
not wish to hear you speak in this manner of my father, godfather,"
she said coldly. "My father lives for my mother and me. He is good and
generous. It is you who are the egoist, godfather!"

Franšois started as if to check his daughter, but she continued, "When
mama was so sick, six years ago, papa sent me with Marguerite, our
maid, to take a letter to you. I did so want to read that letter, it
must have been so splendid.... You answered...."

Adhemar tried to get in a word. Esperance in exasperation tapped the
floor with her foot and rushed on, "You answered, 'Little one, you
must tell your papa that I will give him all the advice he wants to
help him out of this trouble, but it is a principle of mine never to
lend money, above all to my good friends, for that always leads to a
quarrel.' Then I left you and went to my Uncle Renaud, who gave me a
great deal more even than we needed for mama."

Big Renaud looked hot and uncomfortable. His son pressed his hand so
affectionately under the table that the good man's eyes grew wet.

"Ever since then, godfather, I have not cared for you any more."

The atmosphere of the little room seemed suddenly to congeal. The
silence was intense. Adhemar himself remained thunderstruck in his
chair, his tongue dry, his thoughts chaotic, unable to form a reply to
the child's virulent attack. For the sake of breaking up this general
paralysis, Maurice Renaud finally suggested that they should vote upon
the decision to be given to his brave little cousin.

They gathered together around the table and began to talk in low
tones. Esperance had sunk